Something pretty awesome that many religions talk about is the end of the world. I’m not necessarily saying that I think it would be awesome if the world ended, but it is pretty cool how certain cultures depict our demise.

For instance, the Norse believed Ragnarök to be the world’s end. Tons of poems, mostly those in Snorri Sturluson’s collection, reference the end of the world and the events that will bring it about.

So, Ragnarök is a series of events that will shatter the world apart. It’s basically a war between the gods and the giants. [1] Fenrir the great wolf will break free of his chains and defeat Odin; Thor will die as he defeats the Midgard Serpent; Bifrost, the rainbow bridge to Asgard will burn; and Nidhögg, the great serpent, will fly through the sky “rending corpses.”[2]It’s not all bad, though. Because after the world has ended and the great wolf has devoured the sun and the moon, the world will be reborn, rising from the water fresh and green. The few who survive will find shelter in the World-Tree Yggdrasil.

In Skyrim, there are similar predictions of the world’s destruction described on Alduin’s Wall. This prophecy states that when the High King of Skyrim (the Dragonborn Ruler) is killed, and his palace, known as the White or Snow Tower, in the capital of Tamriel no longer has a ruler, Alduin (known as the World-Eater) will return and face the Last Dragonborn. Alduin’s wall goes on to describe the downfall of Alduin, thus prophesizing that although existence comes into danger, the Dragonborn will defeat Alduin and save Mankind.[3]

Basically, Both prophecies tell of a coming battle, including the detail of an all-consuming dragon and his devouring of the fallen and both end on a slightly positive note; Alduin’s wall depicting the Dragonborn’s defeat of the World-eater, and the Eddas’ telling of the rebirth of the world after Ragnarök.

A girl at work (I won’t say which work) told me recently that I am too happy. Too. Happy. What? Now, she’s sort of a stoic, snarky girl who seems to pride herself on being annoyingly cynical- and whatever, good for her. But seriously, how could she say that?

I am just the right amount of gosh-darned (censored that a bit for y’all) happy that I need to be. I have experienced incredible pain in my life. I have lived through several violent assaults. I have been abused. I have been ridiculed for my physical traits. I have had some really shitty stuff happen to me. And I am still happy.

I have every right to be happy as she does to be a cynical asshat.

It’s very true- I’m an incredibly cheerful person, and I understand that it might get to be a little much for people forced to interact with me for extended periods of time. I try as hard as possible to brighten the days of the people around me because I believe that kindness is key and there isn’t enough of it in the world. I smile at everyone I see and I always say “please” and “thank you.”

I am happy because I choose every day to be happy.

I don’t understand the concept of “too happy.” I am just the right amount of happy for me. She’s apparently just the right amount of unhappy for her, and I don’t comment on that fact. So why does she need to complain about my cheer?

Never let anyone tell you that you’re too happy, or too sad for that matter. Or too excited, abashed, kind, or angry. Let yourself be unashamed of your emotions. To be fair, there’s definitely a threshold for anger-levels (don’t be punching strangers or screaming at managers, ya know?) and similar emotions but for the most part you should embrace your emotions. Or at least accept them. And don’t let anyone freaking tell you that you’re too much of anything- because that’s bullshit. They’re telling you that you’re being too you. That makes no sense.

I’m sure there are a million counter arguments to my stance on this. Some are fully logical and I’d probably even believe them, but right now I’m sorta salty that this lady told me I was too happy and I’m letting that irritation push this post. My “BeMused Thoughts” category is basically my journal, anyway, and that’s what you’re supposed to do in journals, right? Write down snapshots of your feelings? Maybe not. I could be doing this entirely wrong. F*ck it.

But anyway- back to my point. Don’t let someone tell you that you’re showing too much of your personality or character, because being honest with yourself and your emotions is healthy and awesome to do. /end rant.

Combination of Posts I wrote Friday and Saturday, so this is post is 22/23 of 100.

I have no idea where that quote comes from. All I know is that it’s one of the truest phrases I’ve ever heard in my life.

Last week something really terrible happened and it shook my world up somethin’ fierce. I was faced with grief of a magnitude I have never before encountered. I was a mess. But I went to work the next day, and I dove into my job, hoping to drown out the sorrow in my heart. And you know what?

It worked.

I didn’t forget about the pain I felt, but spending time with people I care about really helped alleviate it. What drove the pain almost entirely away, you ask? Well, laughing.

As I’ve explained before, my morning HELPS second grader is one of the funniest kids ever. Just talking to him brightens my day, no matter how dark my mood. So my morning dose of his humor started my day after The News on the best foot possible. Following that, my high (as in, high-level) group second graders are sarcastic, curious, and all-around hilarious. Plus, we were talking about Vikings and it’s hard for me to not enjoy my time talking about Vikings. When I spend my day at Local Elementary School, I am surrounded by people I enjoy. True kindness, generosity, and positivity absolutely engulfs me and it is one of the best places for me, especially with my current stressors. The pillow of positive emissions helps cushion my sorrowful heart and I could not be more thankful for the people there.

At Local Family Restaurant I am equally surrounded by smiles and laughter. Whether it’s commiserating over shitty tables or being proposed to by 80-year-old guests, I’m always smiling when it comes to my serving job. The atmosphere is so friendly and I love my coworkers so much. They all now know what’s going on and they try doubly hard to make my shifts positive- they are so incredibly kind. I love going to work because I know I’ll be doing something and I’ll be happy about it. That helps hide the grief away until a later time.

Even outside of school laughter follows me. I met a pretty stellar guy a couple weeks ago and he makes me laugh more than anyone has in a long time, even more than my joke-telling second grader. This guy, we’ll call him IT, is seriously hilarious. Spending time with him is an absolute pleasure and I’m getting rock-hard abs from how much I laugh when I am with him. I am truly grateful for his positive presence in this dark time. I’d be grateful anyway, but it means so much that he is able to break through my rain cloud with his bright personality.

Obviously, when I’m not laughing and I’m instead faced with some alone-time or time where I need to focus on other things (like blogging, for instance), I sit face-to-face with my grief and let it wash over me. I let myself dwell a little bit in my time without laughter because I know that the more I think about it the easier it will get. I still miss Alex, and I will forever feel a strange void when I think of my childhood knowing that such a permanent part of my life is no longer there. But I know that the memories are still there and he can never be erased from those, which is a comfort. The funeral is this week and I’m actually looking forward to it. Maybe reconnecting with other childhood permanents will help. Maybe we can laugh together and grieve together and realize that every day things will get a teeny bit better.

Every laugh, giggle, cackle, every guffaw, every chuckle, every single smidgen of a smile helps mend the pain. And I’m grateful for all of the people in my life who make me laugh. Thank you, all of you.

I guess laughing when it’s time to laugh and crying when it’s time to cry is how I mourn.

Post 21/100, sorry it’s late, WordPress and my computer weren’t friendly for some reason. Anyway, we’ve already heard about how much I love to read. But I have some specific goals in mind for 2015. I’d like to branch out some more, and also keep myself accountable for all of the damn books I keep checking out from the library. So, the first few books on this list have specific titles, since they’re in my room now and I’d like to stop renewing them in vain. After that there are some general goals. I’m always open to book suggestions!!

1.The Legend of Sigurd & Gudrun, retold by J.R.R. Tolkien. I’ve been halfway done with this book for two months. Let’s get this over with, Jess.

2. Savage Continent: Europe in the Aftermath of World War II by Keith Lowe. Again, I’ve been partially done with this for like two months… I’m bad at finishing what I start, apparently. Potential partners, beware!

3. Smoke Gets in Your Eyes and Other Lessons From the Crematory by Caitlin Doughty. In comparison to how long I’ve had the other two books, I’ve read a hell of a lot of this one in a short period of time. It’s a great book- I read a chapter almost every day. Let’s finish it!

4. Fantasy Freaks and Gaming Geeks by Ethan Gilsdorf. I’ve heard mixed reviews of Gilsdorf’s portrayal of being a D&D nerd. But it has to do with escapism and gaming and it sounds awesome!

5. American Whiskey, Bourbon, & Rye: A Guide to The Nation’s Favorite Spirit by Clay Risen. I like to be informed of the things I enjoy. And I enjoy the hell out of good Whiskey.

6. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams. A guy I’ve been seeing let me borrow it and suggests it- so it’s on my priority list. Mostly because he (of course) wants it back soonish and I’d like to comply. I’ve already read half of the book… I got it a week ago. Go me! But really, I’m super embarrassed I haven’t read it yet.

7. The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold. My mom told me I needed to read it and gave it to me the last time I went to visit her. Well, okay, mom!

8. Bring It! written by the wonderful, gorgeous Tony Horton! I’ve never read a book about fitness, and his introduction to the book compelled me when I read it in the library.

9. Half Broke Horses by Jeannette Walls. Another mom suggestion. She has good taste in books, so I trust her.

So, those are all of the books strewn about the various table tops in my bedroom. Now, to the other stuff.

10. Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. I have read it in its entirety once, over the course of six years. I’d like to do it all in one month. I’m sweating bullets just thinking about trying it again. That book is a doozy.

Numbers 11, 12, and 13 are “books that I read for high school.” So, any three of the following books: The Great Gatsby, As I Lay Dying, The Sun Also Rises, Grendel, Heart of Darkness, To Kill a Mockingbird, Catcher in the Rye, Lord of the Flies, Fahrenheit 451, Great Expectations ( I remember nothing other than hating it), Slaughterhouse 5, All Quiet on the Western Front, The Things They Carried, Alas Babylon, The Awakening, The Invisible Man.

Numbers 14, 15, and 16 are “‘classic’ books not listed above.” Here’s where I admit I’ve never read: 1984, The Scarlet Letter, Flowers for Algernon, Animal Farm, Of Mice and Men, Brave New World, Catch-22, Death of a Salesman, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Gone With the Wind, A Clockwork Orange (started but never finished), or anything by Jane Austen (well, I tried really hard but I hated Pride and Prejudice…)

17. A new Stephen King book I’ve yet to read

18. An old Stephen King book I’ve yet to read

19. A banned book I’ve already read, not mentioned in numbers 11-13

20. A banned book I’ve never read, not mentioned in numbers 14-16

21+ all books suggested to me by comment on this post!

So, please comment on this post! I’d love suggestions on what books to read for numbers 11-21! I’ve read a LOT of Stephen King so I didn’t list them on here. I’ll let you know if I have when/if you suggest them. I don’t generally care if I get comments or not, but I’m in love with books and I’d love for you to share your favorites and opinions with me!

Okay, so at Heidelberg they’re called “Societies,” but they’re effectively the same thing, just not national. We have a tiny little oasis of Greek Life at the Berg consisting of five Fraternities and five Societies. Here’s 5 (of many) reasons I am so glad I joined.

5. I have an endless supply of love and support, either from the girls I was active with or from new girls and alumnae, it’s incredible the bond we share just through our group.

4. I learned so much about effective (and not-so-effective) meeting tactics. I now feel more comfortable going into a meeting and reaching a goal.

3. I was (and still am) loved and respected regardless of, and sometimes because of, my deeply seeded flaws. I was raised above my imperfections and stripped away from my issues and loved for the tiny, vulnerable creature that I am.

2. I learned an insane amount about myself and my abilities. Because of #3 on this list I was able to see the good in myself and understand that I am capable of leadership, collaboration, anything that I set my mind to.

1. They saved my life. I would have (more than likely) succeeded in killing myself after my return from Spain without the endless love and boundless patience from my roommates (two very special sisters) and the rest of the Society. They were willing to listen and talk when I needed and also very kind to leave me alone when I selfishly demanded it. They made sure to never let me be truly alone, though, and I am so grateful for that.

Post 19/100, written yesterday in my journal while at school. It’s really just a series of jokes/statements by one of my favorite children on the planet.

Every morning, for ten to twenty minutes, I get a dose of life through an wonderful child’s eyes. He and I read every morning together, and every day I learn something new about him, such as:

“Today I had soup for breakfast.”

“Something terrible happened over break. I can’t even tell you, it will make you sick. I can never tell anyone.” What happened!? Are you okay? “It. Was. Awful. It was everywhere!” What was everywhere!? “I got sick. All over my nana’s carpet. It was just terrible, Miss Jess. Just. Terrible.”

“I do love spinny tops!”

“Do you want to hear a joke?” (I always want to hear a joke)

Q: What did the apple say to the poster?

A: Am I a poster, too? (GET IT?)

Q: What did the elf say to the shelf?

A: Am I an Elf on a Shelf? (GET IT?)

Q: What did the door say to the bell?

A: You’re too loud! (GET IT?)

So, you see, he’s got some work to do on his material, as every time he goes to tell me a joke he says he needs to “look around for inspiration.” Basically he takes two objects and makes them talk to each other. It’s never funny, except in his incredible delivery in which the punchline is always followed by “get it?!!” To make sure that you understood the joke.

This child is incredible. He always shines light on my day. I don’t think he knows how grateful I am for his unyielding life and light.

This is a combination post of an entry I wrote in my journal yesterday (I was on the road for six hours- not much computer time) and some additional thoughts I had today. So it’s a hybrid 17&18/100 post.

I’ve been quite lucky in my life to have a very distant relationship with death. Lucky in the sense that the most challenging deaths in my life have been pets of mine. Slightly unlucky in the sense that I still have no idea how to mourn the humans in my life whose lives have ended.

Both of my grandfathers died before I was born and my father’s mother died when I was incredibly young- so young I have one single memory of her and it’s just of her house and her dog. My uncle died when I was young enough to have no memories of him. I don’t remember anything at all, and that’s sad in itself, but it also doesn’t make me mourn his loss- I had nothing to really lose in that sense. The first lost human life that I remember affecting me was the death of my mom’s mother. She died from cancer when I was seven years old. I remember finding out while my mom was making dinner- she was chopping onions. I didn’t know how to respond to the news because I didn’t know if my mom was crying from the onions or the news. I remember feeling really confused about how I should react. My mother, bless her soul, was seemingly accepting of the news, even though now I can look back and see how upset she really was. We didn’t go to the funeral- it was in Texas and we couldn’t afford to make it out. I never got true closure on that but I also didn’t understand the need for closure.

I remember when my dad’s dog, Daisy, died. She had been getting sick for some time and she needed to be put out of her misery. My dad called me to tell me- I was probably nine years old. I was devastated. Daisy had been my dog, too. And now she wasn’t there to lay next to me on the couch or eat the food I dropped on the floor. My canine little sister had passed away, and I was a wreck. I didn’t want to go to school the next day and when my mom made me I thought she was a monster- how could she keep me from wallowing in the loss of sweet Daisy? All of the kids at school empathized with me. They all understood how huge of a deal it was to lose a pet. At that age, hopefully that’s the worst death anyone has to deal with.

But Daisy’s death wasn’t a surprise. She was getting old and getting sick- as animals tend to do much faster than humans. Even my child brain understood that pets live shorter lives than their families. As sad as that was, I understood that the majority of the pets I would have in life would die before I did. I could accept that fact.

Fast forward to my senior year of college when a close acquaintance of mine, a member of the fraternity I was incredibly close with, died suddenly. He fell in his bathroom at home, hit is head, and that was it. I got the news right before I gave my presentation on my Skyrim paper for the first time. I had no idea how to react. While I was discussing draugr and dragons, all I had on my mind was death. He and I had many conversations at Heidelberg and had bonded while I was in Spain as he was one of few people to continuously talk to me. I would never say we were close, but we had a friendship for sure. And just the thought that he wouldn’t be up for the next Greek get-together or that we wouldn’t be able to make fun of a silly story he had told without knowing there would never be another silly story or another bumbling remark by him was enough to make me see the void I had in my life without him. Someone integral to my social circle had passed away, and there was a palpable gap left in our lives.

That was the first funeral I had ever been to in my entire life where I knew the deceased, had a relationship with them. He was dead and I was alive and so were all of his fraternity brothers and how the hell does one wrap one’s mind around a freak accident like that? He was so young- how did that just happen? Death happens to sick people or old people, right? Not young, healthy, recent college graduates who don’t even have a life plan yet. I went to the funeral with some of the guys in the frat and also my psychology professor, an advsior to their fraternity. She was very good at trying to keep the memories positive on the way there- and we didn’t even talk about him the whole time. I was glad to let her lead conversations because I honestly had no idea how to react, how to interact, or how to act at all. I did not know what words to say, if I should cry, if I felt like crying, or what I should say to his family. I mean, they’re the ones that really lost someone, right? I couldn’t even tell you the guy’s favorite color; who am I to mourn him?

But then I think about Robin Williams and his death. And I think about how the world mourned his death. People who had never seen him, met him, or known anything about him other than his acting career, they felt intense sorrow following his death. And it made me think- do we really have to know someone for our lives to be affected by them? I don’t think so. I had grown up thinking mourning was this huge process saved for those who knew the individual that passed away. For their family and best friends, for their true connections in life. But I have been wrong my entire life- to mourn is to show any regret or sadness at the loss of someone or something. Anything, anyone can have an effect on your life, and you should never feel as if you don’t deserve to mourn the loss of that something or someone.

And so I have mourned that acquaintance from school- I have allowed myself to feel sorrowful for the emptiness in my mind, the dark spot I reach when I think about the next time I see him, because I know I won’t. Even though we didn’t talk much, I know that it can never happen again, and that is terribly sad to me. That was my first true tango with human loss and how to properly mourn someone.

Yesterday I was awoken by my sister, sobbing. In my confused, half-conscious state I furrowed my eyebrows deeply, hoping for an explanation of the incredibly abrupt wake-up call. She informed me that our neighbor growing up, our very first friend in life, had died. Died. He was dead. He was gone.

I couldn’t wrap my mind around it- hadn’t he been doing well? He had gone through rehab and was living a happy, clean life, wasn’t he? That’s what I gathered from his Facebook posts, at least. Which prompted me to go on Facebook (breaking my vow, I know) and see our “friendship” from Facebook’s perspective. It revealed about as much as I had anticipated- we said happy birthday to each other every year for the last five years, and we had some “hey old friend, how are you?” conversations- nothing too epic. But something caught my eye- and is prompting my current state of emotional turmoil. It is one of those “tag someone you….” photos, posted by my sister. He had been tagged as someone she met when she was little. His comment? “shit, met me when we were little, you were my first friend.”

Her first friend.

My first friend.

The very first friend I and my sister had ever made in life just donated his organs on Sunday. He donated his organs because he didn’t need them anymore. Because he is dead. And I have no fucking clue how I am supposed to respond to this earth-shattering news. How do you mourn? Isn’t there a manual somewhere with steps or processes to get over the death of someone who has always, literally always, been a part of your life, whether actively or passively?

How do I wake up and know that the boy I used to chase around my basement trying to kiss is dead? How do I react to the overwhelming guilt at our lack of effort to continue our friendship? Should I feel guilty? Am I just feeling guilty because he is dead or is it something else? We all know that the typical response to death is to let everyone in our lives know how much they mean to us, in case they’re next? But that feels wrong to me- like it is mocking death and its solemnity.

Sometime in the next week I will attend the funeral of someone who was a fundamental part of my life. I will be in a room with people who loved him as much as I did, and some who loved him more. I will be able to hug his parents who have always served as a second set of parents for me. I will know what to say- I will tell them how important he was and how important their family has always been to me. I can regret that one time I threw a rock at him and he had to get stitches. I can laugh about the wedding he and my sister had in our basement. I will be able to share in the mourning for the first time in my life. And as crazy as it sounds- I look forward to that. I look forward to being able to share in the complete agony caused by the loss of this incredible, strong, wonderful boy who grew up to be such a fantastic man. The darkness in life where he once shed light will not be something I am witnessing alone.

But until then, until I am able to mourn by example, how am I supposed to handle this? How do I mourn? Is the absolute insanity I’m feeling going to pass, soon? How soon is too soon for it to pass? Am I a bad person if I’m over this next week? What if I’m never over this- how do you know?

Or is mourning more personal? Does it take a different face with different people? Is this blog post mourning or is it just bitching at the world? I don’t even know, and I hope that it makes sense soon because this is so incredibly hard. I may not really know how to mourn but I don’t think I’m doing it very well, regardless. All I want is my friend back, and to see how well he is doing again and to read about him on Facebook or think about something funny that happened when we were kids and fondly wonder how his life is going. I don’t want that abrupt “No Outlet” sign of death to shadow over every memory of him, knowing none can be made again.

Am I vain for being so worried about how I should be reacting to this news versus just reacting? Should I stop trying so hard to mourn the right way and just mourn?

I’m sorry this post is so long. If you read the whole thing- good on you. Until tomorrow, folks.

I recently read a New York Times article about one of my all-time favorite people in the world, Marilyn Manson. I haven’t been borderline obsessed with him since I was ten because of his music. I enjoy it but that’s not the real reason- the actual reason I am such a fan is because he is so honestly human. He is honest with the world about his issues and his self and he embraces his flaws. I really appreciate that- his self awareness as a combination celebrity and human.

The article ends with this incredible quote from Manson:

“There’s a difference between a man who has everything to gain and a man who has nothing to lose. If you have nothing to lose, you’re dangerous in a bad way. If you have everything to gain, you’re dangerous in a good way.”

I love this quote. I think there’s a lot to it. I don’t think I really need to explain why I like it so much- I just identify with it. I’ve been in both situations. I was a woman with nothing to lose for a while and I was in an incredibly dark place. Now I feel as if the world is before me and I get to choose my path entirely- I get to gain everything in my own time and in my own way. I don’t know if that makes me feel dangerous or not, but hell, I might be.

(Featured image of a painting I did my senior year with two of my best friends, C and A)

Welcome, folks! Post 15/100! Wooooo.

So, as you know by now, I like to be creative. I love to express myself through cooking, painting, writing, and singing. I love to engage my creative process every day, whether it be this blog, a shitty poem, or a painting. Everything I do I try to do creatively.

But my post today is about sharing my creations. About how afraid I am that I’m bad at the things I love to do. Now, I know that I’m a pretty bomb cook. But I still worry when I make food for people that they might not like it, and I’m terrified until they tell me they like it. I crave the feedback, the reassurance that I, indeed, created something enjoyable. With all of my other creative endeavors I am not nearly as comfortable.

I love to paint, but I’m afraid of sharing my paintings in case they’re not what people want to see. Unless they were the love-children paintings of my senior year of college or some other collaboration, my paintings have always been guarded and kept close because what if… what if they’re bad, or ugly, or send the wrong message, or anything else. What if?

I get a special kind of high when I write poetry or short stories. I get a whole new mindset when I’m writing creatively. I love to ride that wave and let all sorts of ridiculous things spill out onto my pages. I write about the times when I’ve been assaulted and I write about that one time I attempted suicide. I write about the dark times. Those are usually my best poems, but I’m not about to share that shit with the world- who wants to see that, to be jarred by my inner turmoil? I also write flowery crap about butterflies and unicorns and rainbows and shit. But that’s awful stuff. It has forced rhymes and Dr. Seuss-ey meter. My short stories are always kept private, just like my paintings. I still regret not being able to take that creative writing class in college because it would have forced me to share my work and accept that people may sometimes actually enjoy my writing.

When I create my art, whether it be painted, drawn, or written, I take pure, unadulterated me and slap it on my canvas. I don’t dilute my emotions or my fear. I splatter paintings with my anger, bliss, or anxiety. I sometimes drape my poems with a veil so dark Sylvia Plath would shudder. My short stories are snapshots into my mind- and my mind can be a terrible place. It can also be a place so beautiful and so imaginative that my writing will never do it justice. So the thought of sharing it with others, people who find me to be a well-adjusted, positive person, terrifies me.

I’m a bit of a perfectionist- it comes from the fact that I never thought I was good enough growing up. For example, my mom always wanted A’s, not just for me to try my best. Now, she calmed the hell down after middle school and was just like “dude, try your hardest, if that’s a C, then we’ll deal with that,” but the damage was kind of done. I totally don’t blame her entirely (it’s also not just a thing I picked up out of nowhere) – my teachers always pushed me for perfection and I even had a college professor give me a B once because he felt that I “didn’t meet the standards” he had for me. I “completed the assignment to all specifications” but it just wasn’t “up to par.” I still have that stupid post-it note. Seriously, who says that? So, tangent aside, I like my stuff to be perfect before I share it with others.

Here is where my view of art and its juxtaposition to the view of my art comes in. I think art is so beautiful when it is full of raw, delicate emotion. I find the imperfections and flaws just as beautiful, if not moreso, than the well executed techniques of the artist. I think imperfection in itself is art- they’re the subconscious additions that show up. If an artist has the gall to leave their mistakes or even showcase them, I am impressed. It makes the artist seem more human, more real and relatable. I love that. But I just cannot apply that outlook on my art, and I think that’s where I fall short. My art makes me feel naked, and I am afraid to share that vulnerability with others- it is a straight shot to 100% Jess. That’s a lot of Jess to witness. I should just embrace my creations and love them for what they are- little pieces of me scattered about on a canvas or a page.

This blog is a little bit cathartic for me- especially the 100 posts in 100 days challenge I gave myself. I have less time to craft my posts- less time to plan my research or my arguments. And I also have less time to think of content. I’ve definitely pulled from my personal life more than I thought and I’m definitely sharing more with the world than I ever thought I would on here- and I kind of like that.

Until tomorrow, folks!

Are you ever afraid of sharing anything you create? Do you censor yourself in any way when sharing yourself with others? Let me know in a comment below so I feel less weird about this.

You’re still reading? Great. Well, it’s on the internet so I guess I can’t stop you. According to someone wise, “the best things on the internet are terrible.” I guess in an effort to increase my creativity I should be exploring creative opportunities outside my creative comfort zone. So there’s some positivity there.

I told The Writer that I didn’t know what to write about tonight and he said “butterflies,” soooo I wrote a poem. Gosh, I’d be embarrassed if he read this drivel. Here goes,